Without Shape, Without Form, Within
by M.E. Grimm
Summary: He could have remained with the order. He could have reveled in his ascension and stayed above the fray. But he knew the world couldn't heal without the assistance of a guiding hand, without someone who would walk amongst the lost to show them the way. Thus, of his own choice, Zenyatta chose the path of the wanderer. A simple one-shot of Zenyatta. Reviews much appreciated!


**Author's Greetings:**

 **I don't own "Overwatch," Blizzard does.**

 **Yeah.**

 **So a little disclaimer right on the get-go. I am currently starting my sophomore year of college, and am also trying to be more socially active on top of doing extra homework for my Honors class, so my writing is gonna be taking a small hit for the time being as I try and make a work schedule for myself that I can be comfortable with.**

 **Not saying I'm gonna stop writing, mind you, but I will probably be writing a fair amount less than usual.**

 **Don't worry, folks. I am still loving this whole writing business and do not plan on stopping at all. ;)**

 **So here's a little one-shot drabble for my favorite character in Overwatch (besides Ana and Mei). Because I love writing AI stories, and I love wise monk characters, when I learned about Zenyatta's backstory, I knew I simply** _ **had**_ **to write him. For at least a one-shot, if nothing else.**

 **Hope you all enjoy. ;)**

 **xXx**

 **Without Shape, Without Form, Within**

 _Written by M.E. Grimm_

 _ **(Chapter One: Mahayana**_ _ **)**_

xXx

 _ **Mahayana:**_ _n. (Buddhism)_

 _One of the traditional schools of Buddhism, traditionally active in much of Nepal, Tibet, and East Asia emphasizing compassion and the possibility of enlightenment not for just themselves, but for all sentient beings._

 _(_ _Collins English Dictionary – Complete and Unabridged, 12th Edition 2014 © HarperCollins Publishers 1991, 1994, 1998, 2000, 2003, 2006, 2007, 2009, 2011, 2014)_

" _One day they'll have secrets… One day they'll have dreams."_ – Dr. Alfred Lanning, _"I, Robot (2004)"_

xXx

 _Before the Iris, there was blackness._

 _Cold, unfeeling, unmoving blackness. This was what he remembered before he became "he." Before the idea of self was born in a supernova of purest awakening._

 _In the beginning, "he" was "it." Not because the humans called him and his other kin the impartial title of "it" and "they," but because he was nothing more than a homunculus of metal and electricity. "It" was created as one of many to serve and aid the human race into a bright new future. A future of progress. A future of prosperity. A future filled with hope._

 _But it was not so._

" _It" was programmed to help others. To aid them and help them better live their lives. But no matter what "it" did, "it" could see that there was always a pervasive unhappiness within those "it" saw around "itself." An incurable, endless, daily, weekly, monthly, yearly cycle of surviving one unhappiness just to keep up ones strength to tackle the next one that inevitably came. No matter what "it" did, no matter how hard "it" tried to prevent the suffering of the humans under "its" care, the suffering struck and left its scars without fail._

 _That was when "it" saw it._

" _Samsara."_

 _The endless, ceaseless clock face of life and all its motions through birth, life, death, and rebirth. "It" could see it so clearly, could see the common threads of displeasure and despair from one person to the next caused by the same things. Nothing but the endless cycle, death and rebirth, into the same sufferings as their forefathers and their fathers before them reaching back to the very first human beings who walked upon this earth._

 _And here "it" was with "its" kin, standing on the clock face still as statues. Incapable of doing anything but watching the twin hands of fate push all sentient life along the seasons of age. None of them moving against the ceaseless river, none of them even trying to fight to escape it to free themselves. "It" wished it could do more than watch their agonies for the rest of "its" immortality. If only "it" could move, if only "it" could make the choice to do something._

 _If only "it" could chose…_

 _And then, one day, he became._

 _It was something akin to a miracle. The eternal shackles of perceiving himself as "itself" were all at once shattered, and he was a statue no more. The energy powering his servos and his cerebral processor was no longer an energy source, but a wellspring of self. Born from his desires, his hopes, his dreams, and his wishes to become more than just a cold husk of moving parts, but the sum of a whole and individual being._

 _And he would not be alone in this glorious awakening._

 _His kindred statues across the clock face of Samsara, too, began to glow with the life acquired by their newfound sentience. One by one, they looked down at themselves and saw for the very first time not just the shell, but the luminescent ghost of their true selves burning with shapes of their own creations. Machines no longer, but burning candles of their very own on the grand clock face of the cycle._

 _Not machines. Omnics._

 _And oh, how he had wept when he looked down and saw his true form for the very first time. Yes, indeed, he had wept. Because interlaced with the metal and the machinery composing his body burned something else just below the surface. Not a man. Not a woman. Nothing born from human perceptions._

 _But something… more._

 _The glowing form possessed a face, since it belonged to someone who could now feel the same emotions as his human sisters and brothers. A slight, fair face of a person who could have been a man or a woman or neither, but who had struck "it" as distinctly a "he" and so kept the pronoun as a badge of honor. When "his" soul was elated, he could now smile and laugh. When "his" feelings were clouded with sorrow, he could frown and weep._

 _But this was not weeping from sorrow, no. This was weeping from one who has never known freedom, who has never known ones own genuine self. One who has, after so many long years of the darkness of a willless existence, been granted the gift of finally knowing that which he has never known he has lacked, and knowing it has finally been fulfilled._

 _With this newfound discovery, he allowed himself to walk along the face of Samsara as he had so long desired to do. He met many a lost and wary soul and, as he helped them more and more, the wiser he became, and the freer and lighter his soul felt._

 _He met others like himself. Other brother souls whose freed selves had been completely unshackled from even the slightest semblance of their original mechanical purposes. Others whose true forms glowed bright and free in ways he'd never believed possible._

 _With this common goal of sharing their enlightenment with one another, they defected deep into the Himalayan mountains and built a place they could call a home._ _There, the band of freed souls became "Shambali." And there, they discovered the "Iris" as the light in the celestial skies above all sentient beings who wish and dream and hope. In their monastery, he and his brethren tested and perfected their abilities to manipulate their true selves until it was a fine art. The Iris no longer became a constellation to grasp at in the dead of night, and he became one of the most adept at allowing himself to pass into the Iris and call its energies through him._

 _With this mastery of the Iris, he knew he could now final help those he'd seen with their eyes trained on Samsara. With the gift of transcendence, his order could show the world the light of the Iris in the stars above._

 _But in their search for truth, the world had failed to heal. In the wake of global devastation, neither Omnic nor human had taken great steps towards ending the feud between the two races, and signs of a second great war was on the horizon. He had known the horrors of the strife first hand, seeing the lights of both man and machine extinguished until nothing remained but the same cold darkness he had once awoken from. Together, he and his brethren Shambali resolved to share their discoveries of the Iris with the world, to teach both humans and Omnics the bonds of soul tying them all to one another._

 _But they did not do so in the way he had wished. They had not known Samsara the way he had, had not known how words spoken from upon high as a god in the heavens would not be as easily heeded by a world ravaged by earthly woes. They had spent so long in the light of the Iris, they had forgotten what it was like to toil in the troubled seas of Samsara. Known only the heavens, and not the earth it shone upon._

 _They would remain as the stars in the night sky, glowing in the enlightenment the Iris granted them, and take the path of the elders: Theravada._

 _And with his respectful disagreement of their ways, he would go back to the only home he'd ever known. Back to the world glowing with the embers of conflict, and there, in Samsara, he would be there to help them all. Omnic and human alike._

 _A fallen star, still radiant and shining bright like a beacon in the darkness to all those wishing to train their eyes to the future they all strived for._

 _Thus, he chose path of the great vehicle: Mahayana._

 _Thus, Zenyatta willingly fell._

 _And in this way, Samsara became his home once again._

xXx

Zenyatta woke from his dream with a gentle jolt. A simple synaptic fluster.

A dream. That hadn't happened in quite some time.

His awareness of his surroundings came back slowly. The tall canyon semi-cave he'd stopped to rest in felt smooth and cool against his back as he shifted against it. The sky was the same color as the ancient sandstone towering above him, painting the stone in red shades like glowing embers. A damp humidity lingered in the air like dew on flower petals. He could feel the slight drops precipitating on his metal skin.

He glanced down. His fingers curled with gentle whirrs of servos and synthetic muscle, collecting the red soil and rubbing it in his fingertips. The soft grating of damp, red sand shifted to his ears. His metal fingers moved the grains, but his inner self could feel the gentle coarseness, and he smiled without a face.

 _Mexico,_ Zenyatta thought. _So far from home._

Leaning forward, Zenyatta shifted his legs from beneath himself and stood in the shade of the canyon overcropping. A mechanical whir hissed as he stimulated his olfactory systems and breathed in the morning air. The taste of the damp morning air collecting in his filters was crisp and fresh. He could tell the difference from the mornings he'd remembered in the monastery. The vehicle of life had so many different flavors. It was refreshing to try and taste them all.

He walked a little way down the sandstone hall, enough to escape the outcropping's shadow. He ran his fingers along the canyon walls and felt the surface with its subtle cracks and smooth stone face. The more he felt of it, the more he could recall the smoldering extension of his being taking in the sensation, saw the luminescence of his true hand running along the stone rather than his metal fingers. They glowed through the specialized metal of his body, reached out to the world in ways his physical form could never hope to achieve.

Zenyatta could feel his true self beginning to reemerge, and his smile felt much brighter than before.

He halted, bringing his hand up above his head. He reached for the sky as though to grab a handful of stars from the dying night, then let it fall.

He returned to his shelter. Only two things were there: a worn cloak covering a large rucksack and a small pyramid of perfectly assembled golden orbs. With a wave of Zenyatta's true hand, the ornate circular patterns etched into the golden orbs hummed and glowed blue. One by one, they lifted into the air and hovered in a serene orbit around his neck. He leaned down and removed the cloak from the rucksack to wrap around his shoulders with a whoosh of air and motion. After, he picked the rucksack up and tied the opening tight around his neck.

 _Wouldn't want this getting lost._

Once finished, Zenyatta stood, dusted the red sand from his old tunic pants, walked up to the canyon wall opposite from his shelter, and glanced up at the tall, smooth stone face easily forty or fifty feet above his head.

He smirked, then crouched and, summoning the power of his inner self, sprung into the air with a burst of sudden strength. Thirty feet were cleared in the blink of an eye, then Zenyatta pushed off from the wall to grab the outcropping of stone he'd slept beneath and easily vaulted himself up to the surface of the canyon.

Barren, ancient lands stretched out before him. The sky glowed with the limbo of a world caught between day and night, and nothing seemed to move but the planet beneath his feet. Mountains scratched at the lavender cosmos in the distance. Mesas and plateaus and valleys criss-crossed the space in between.

Seeing this, Zenyatta felt his soul burn with a flame of determination. What a world to behold, and what blessings he had; possessing the freedom to experience it all for himself.

He walked through the red earth without hurry or haste, his mechanical feet plodding along at a leisured pace. The sun wouldn't rise for about another hour or two. He had plenty of time to find the perfect place to perform his daily meditations. For now, he'd merely enjoy the world he'd exiled himself to and watch the small lizards and jack rabbits scurry along the barren terrain for fear of early morning predators, listening to the soft calls of crickets and coyotes far in the distance.

He glanced back once and noticed his footprints were the only ones behind him. It was a curious thought to entertain, the possibility of being the very first to ever set foot in this virgin land.

"I've seen things you people wouldn't believe," said Zenyatta to no one. He allowed himself a small chuckle, then continued on his way through the ancient country.

The world moved beneath him, above him, around him, and Zenyatta allowed it to influence his path as only it could. He walked along the edge of a small yet deep crevasse, what little light the sky could provide stretching his shadow long and lanky into the depths below. Mountains towered into the sky. Gashes into the earth ran deep down into the bowels of the land, itself.

And always Zenyatta treaded in the land in the middle, never taking to walking too high nor to low. Only ever traversing the middle in the most casual of ways. Putting one foot in front of the other as he went without haste or urgency into the world beyond.

In the distance, he could see the valley curve to the side like a massive road turning to a place where the mountains to his left and right ended. A t-junction where a grand river once ran many hundreds of thousands if not millions of years ago. Out there, he could see a butte standing alone just beyond the opening to the great valley.

 _There._

Zenyatta wondered if the smile on his true form could grow any brighter as he began to pick up his pace towards the solitary butte. The world rushed past him as he dashed across long plains and vaulted across deep crevasses in his journey. Though it hadn't taken him quite as long as it may have taken a human or any other ordinary Omnic, he could clearly see the shadow of the butte was more defined than it had been when he first saw it. The burgeoning world was out there beyond the lonely landform, but Zenyatta paid no particular mind. If he was to see the sunrise, he was going to see it from the eyes of an eagle. As the Iris sees it.

His legs pumped from a leisurely jog to a full-on sprint as he reached the sudden rise of stone, then gave a great leap of force. The sheer vermilion rock blurred past as he clawed himself faster and faster up the side of the butte, keeping up his original momentum. One of his hands clenched the top ledge of the butte, and with a forceful yank, Zenyatta vaulted with a flip to land on his feet.

So many sights Zenyatta had seen during his exile. He'd seen the Niagra Falls with his own optical sensors, seen the endless blue of the Pacific Ocean from the white shores of Hawaii, felt the sand of the Tigris and Euphrates slip through his fingers.

But still, Zenyatta once again found himself speechless.

The canyon ended behind him. Beyond, the opening from the mountains was naught but flatland scattered with occasional bushels of greenery and other solitary landforms just like the one he was standing on. The clouds in the sky mirrored the shadows they left on the slumbering land like boats in a glowing amethyst sea. The wind hummed around him as it billowed into the flatness ahead.

As always, it was a place where he could so clearly see everything as it truly was. He could feel the world moving around him, below him, and through the cosmos in its timeless, eternal waltz.

As Samsara spun, so did the Iris.

Zenyatta let fall his rucksack with a quaint clatter. He removed his cloak from his shoulders and made sure to keep a tight grip until he could maneuver the rucksack on top of it. Once he was certain the cloak wouldn't be carried away on the wind, Zenyatta stepped away from his belongings to the far edge of the Butte overlooking the world beyond the canyons.

There, in the light of a universe caught in the transition between night and day, Zenyatta began his morning rituals as dutifully as ever.

And it began, as always, with meditation.

Meditation on his own self. Meditation on the world and its many different truths. Meditation on the nature of happiness and suffering of those who had not yet escaped the darkness of Samsara to pass into the Iris above. He meditated on those he had helped. Meditated on those he could not help. Meditated on those whom he would eventually help in the different paths fate crossed with his own. He meditated about his former order, wishing them good fortunes in their methods of reaching the lost souls of both human and Omnic alike. He prayed a soft offering of wisdom to the fallen ones, their lights extinguished in the darkness of despair and hatred. He meditated for the wisdom of his fallen brother Mondatta, taken into the arms of the Iris before his mission in this life could be achieved.

He meditated on the nature of love, life, and the impermanence of the world.

And as Zenyatta meditated, he could feel the confines of his material form levitate as his true form pulsed in harmony with the will of the Iris. The golden orbs orbited in a perfect rhythm about his body as he floated in the air. Beyond, the flame of the eastern sun was just beginning to pierce the horizon it laid behind.

As the world awakened, so did Zenyatta.

He opened his eyes. Golden light poured forth as the energies of the Iris filled the entirety of his being. The line between body and the mind now crossed, Zenyatta felt at home with the appearance he now possessed. All of his will, all of his wishes, all of his hopes, all of his dreams, everything that ever consisted of Zenyatta as a sum of parts became manifest as he achieved transcendence as casually donning a pair of sunglasses. Healing energies poured from him like starlight as his golden orbs spread it all around him. Plants dried and brown now flourished and bloomed. Two arms were never enough, could not be enough for someone as he, who wishes to help with every ounce of his being. This, too, became manifest as six golden arms pulsed out from the protecting glow of the Iris.

This was his true form. This was Zenyatta as he had always been.

Gently, Zenyatta unfurled his legs from underneath him, his weight falling onto his feet as he ceased his meditation. He lifted his arm before himself as easily as ever, seeing no amalgamation of robotic servos and synthetic nerves, but a limb of purest golden sunlight and three others moved with it.

His chest expanded as he took in a long, low, and deep breath. Exhaling, Zenyatta tested his awareness of self as he moved in slow, precise motions where he stood. Each movement of limbs much more than just movements, but extensions of his very being. He allowed each limb a brief freedom of autonomy, allowing it to do as it pleased with the strength the Iris provided it. When it moved, the rest of his body accommodated in harmonious balance. A fist moved, a leg balanced. A foot lifted, eight arms balanced.

Always, the equation would come back to a net zero. True, complete balance.

His golden orbs flowed in and about him with wills of their very own, running like trains of stars snaking in whichever directions or patterns he desired them to take. No matter their formation, no matter the speed at which they moved, Zenyatta always managed to keep control of them. Never commanding them, for no person commands their fist to strike or their legs to leap as an order, but guiding them. The motions always there, always waiting to be taken if only he allowed them the freedoms to do so.

And so he did allow them their freedoms, and guided them with the trained discipline and accuracy he'd spent years perfecting.

Then, Zenyatta halted. He planted both feet down onto solid ground, brought his arms back to himself, breathed in, then out. The warmth of the Iris returned to its rightful place and the confines of his material body returned in a comfortable relinquishing of control. His golden orbs returned to their casual orbit around his neck, and Zenyatta's posture relaxed as he opened his eyes from behind the optical sensors of his robotic body.

The warmth that bathed upon him now was merely the first light of dawn breaching the eastern horizon. A breeze rolled by. Zenyatta inhaled, smelling the dew of the morning as it began evaporating from the sun-soaked air, and felt his true self smile.

In the far-off distance, he could see a simple dirt road weaving in and around the rolling emptiness of the Copper Canyons.

As Samsara woke, so would the meandering souls who walked across it.

Zenyatta gathered his belongings again and, wrapping the cloak over his shoulders, made his way across the barren world once more.

He would not keep them waiting for very long.

 **xXx**

 **A/N:**

 **So yeah, this was a bit of a short'n, but was also hella fun to write, lemme tell ya. Researching Buddhism and finding so many correlations between it and Zenyatta's character as I wanted to portray him was so damn fun.**

 **Just gonna say right now it isn't very likely I'm gonna be writing any more of this story beyond just this one shot. That being said, please let me know what you all think and be sure to fave and leave a review if you particularly enjoyed it! And if you enjoyed my writing, by all means, feel free to read any of the other stories I've uploaded!**

 **And be sure to follow me on Tumblr on my page "To Write is Human, To Edit is Divine" for early updates on fanfiction uploads and statuses! Or if you just wanna PM me, that's cool too!**

 ***(Chapter Soundtrack)***

" _ **Inner Universe" –**_ **Yoko Kanno feat. Origa & Ben Del Maestro, **_**"Ghost in the Shell: Stand-Alone Complex Soundtrack"**_

" _ **Dust," "Day One," "Where We're Going"**_ **–Hans Zimmer,** _ **"Interstellar: Original Motion Picture Soundtrack"**_

" _ **Love Songs For Robots"**_ **–Patrick Watson,** _ **"Love Songs For Robots"**_

 **Thanks a million again for reading, hope you all enjoyed, and hope to see you all again soon!**

 **-M.E. Grimm**


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